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Literature
05.03.15
The moon is a cold white disc tonight
yet underneath, you and I
feel warm
but small,
insignificant beneath the blackness of dreams.
We talk about work and sex
and math,
making promises unkept.
We base the moment on
each other,
the blur of tears,
the heaviness of our souls
and the stars that swathe in the black
above us.
I close my eyes,
and we're the shadows on the moon
unfurling evermore.
Literature
11:29
I love you
like a stranger.
I love you
like I’d love an anonymous
woman across the road,
because of the way she smiles,
because of the way the sunlight plays
off of her hair, because of the way
her heels
kiss the ground as she walks
away.
I love you
like I’d love someone
unknown and distant,
impossible and hopeless,
I love you
like I’d love someone
who’s never
laid eyes on me.
Literature
10.04
i.
She sits all alone by the sea
before the empty stretch;
whispered winds wandering through,
without any hope
of a realisation.
ii.
The hush of skin on skin,
such submission in her posture
to shimmy past boulders and pebbles alike
into the vast emptiness --
what a wonderful death it is. To drown.
iii.
Wooden clunk of boats
rocking against the gentle, rippling tides;
brightly painted sides
and glowing edges
and well-ripened lichen and a lining of barnacles
which soothes the onrushing memories.
iv.
Gravel-like hiss of sand on the
sloping route up wooden stairs,
creaky, crumbling boathouse;
faded outlook under grey-blue c
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This is a poetic translation of a Bulgarian saying about patience.
© 2014 - 2024 IvanRadev
Comments19
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Very inspiring! 
